


The Shadows We Leave Behind

by mercutie



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutie/pseuds/mercutie
Summary: The first time she had met Aaron Hotchner, he wasn’t wearing a suit. Not like today, in the blue-gray sparsely decorated office space, where he was wearing a suit buttoned so properly he was barely recognizable. No, this was not their first meeting – but after taking one glance at him she knew that she had to pretend it was.“Good morning, Sir,” Maeve said as she held her hand out, he met her eyes with a leveled gaze and firmly shook her hand. “My name is Maeve Gray, I’m an international agent from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”-Set after The Uncanny Valley, Season 5. Aaron x female OC. Mature content, sexy scenes, the whole shebang.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

The first time she had met Aaron Hotchner, he wasn’t wearing a suit. Not like today, in the blue-gray sparsely decorated office space, where he was wearing a suit buttoned so properly, and a tie tied so tightly around his neck he was barely recognizable. No, this was not their first meeting – but after taking one glance at him she knew that she had to pretend it was.

“Good morning, Sir,” Maeve said as she held her hand out, he met her eyes with a leveled gaze and firmly shook her hand. “My name is Maeve Gray, I’m an international agent from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

“Nice to meet you, Agent Gray,” Aaron replied, his words smooth and warm. A bit too warm, maybe. The handshake was warm too, her fingers twitched at the cool air when they parted hands.

She felt their eyes, the rest of the team’s. Even though the interaction was only visible through the blinds of his office, and the door was closed ensuring a private discussion, Maeve felt highly scrutinized.

“She’ll be with you for the next year, at least.” Strauss told Aaron, finality in her voice. “She is, for all intents and purposes, a member of this team and an international asset.”

Maeve would hardly consider Canada to be international, it was less than a day’s drive from her hometown just north of Toronto. Somehow, she had managed to score a transfer position with the BAU, one of their lower echelon American agents had been sent to the RCMP’s state of the art forensics lab. She had been in Virginia for about a week, setting up her tiny apartment and getting the lay of the land. When looking for apartments, Maeve knew that her colleagues would have to live within a half hour drive of Quantico, and she had found a reasonably priced apartment in an up-and-coming neighbourhood.

When she had gone to the bar on her second night in town, she hadn’t expected to meet anyone interesting – much less a handsome, emotionally distant man that both intrigued and confounded her. The conversation with him had been like a chess match, and even though she prided herself on her perception the only thing she had been able to glean from him was that he was both terribly sad, and terribly lonely.

The sadness was a deep problem, the loneliness Maeve could fix – at least for the night. The feeling of his hands sliding up her legs, wrapping around her waist, and heavily indenting the bed beside her head was enough to make her forget her own problems too. But right now, standing in her boss’s office, she wanted nothing more than to forget him.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Aaron promised Strauss, and Maeve fought back a cheeky smile. Her lips twitched upwards, quickly, playfully, before she stomped it down. Not before he noticed, though. He focused on Strauss. She wished she could shrink back into her emerald green blouse. Briefly, Maeve wondered why he didn’t say “we’ll take care of her”. She pushed the thought out of her head.

“I’ll be off then,” Strauss said easily.

Maeve turned her head and dipped her chin slightly, “Thank you, Agent Strauss.”

“We’ll speak soon, Agent Hotchner.” She replied, nodding at Maeve and closing the door behind herself. The office was quiet for just a second too long.

“I’m not going to close my blinds because I never close my blinds and if I close my blinds then the team will know something’s up,” Aaron asked, the words coming out in a quick, matter of fact way. “I’ve heard great things about you and your career with the RCMP, your work with the Highway of Tears serial killers was impressive. You’ll be a great asset here, if you play your cards right and work hard.”

Maeve felt her steely resolve soften slightly, the elephant in the room was palpable but it no longer felt like breathing was difficult. “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“You can call me Hotch,” He replied with a curt nod, “The rest of the team does. We’ll go out and meet them in just a second, but first do we need to discuss last week?”

“Not sure what there is to discuss,” Maeve replied, knowing that this was the response that would end the conversation most efficiently. “I’m ready to meet the team when you are.”

Aaron sized her up. Maeve didn’t bristle, instead she relaxed into her clothing. Her silky green blouse complimented her skin tone well, and her slightly flared black slacks floated nicely around her ankles. Her watch was jet black, waterproof and slick. Her black boots had a short, thick heel and laced up just passed her ankle. Her belt supported her gun, resting heavily on her ample hips. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back and tied in a low ballerina bun, a few pieces framing her face on either side. Her outfit choice was meticulous, functional and fashionable. To men it would look professional and feminine, to women it would look presentable and personable.

“Alright then,” Aaron said after a few seconds of contemplation, “After you.”

Maeve squared her shoulders and let them relax slightly, taking her first steps out into the bullpen as a member of the BAU. She was keenly aware of Hotch’s presence behind her, and enormously excited for the future in front of her. As she turned the corner, she came face to face with a powerhouse of a woman.

In front of her stood a blond bombshell. She was petite, shorter than Maeve and slender. The lack of an athletic build told Maeve she wasn’t an active field agent, but the gun resting on her hip told Maeve she had seen the field a few times.

“We’re ready for today’s briefing when you are.” She said, her voice both soothing and assertive. Maeve placed it immediately – Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, the media liaison.

“We’ll accompany you now,” Aaron said, “Special Agent Maeve Gray, meet Special Agent Jennifer Jareau.”

“Call me JJ,” She said, smiling and taking Maeve’s hand eagerly. “You must be the international asset.”

Maeve returned the eager handshake with enthusiasm of her own.

“I’d hardly consider myself an asset, just another agent.” She replied, “But I must say I’m a big fan of your work, it’s impressive watching you tame a crowd.”

“Some days are easier than others,” JJ told her, but the edge to her voice had lifted into a lighthearted complaint. Maeve gave her a sympathetic nod.

“Some cases are easier than others,” She agreed, earning a smile of recognition from JJ. This felt like a reward for being on her best behaviour, things were looking up.

“JJ, the case?” Aaron pressed and JJ responded quickly, turning on her heel and leading the charge to what Maeve could only assume was the briefing room. As they rounded the corner a busty, curvy blonde woman hustled in front of them, a laptop and some documents clutched tightly to her chest. Her blonde hair was curled and pinned tightly to her head, complimented with a bright pink headband.

“Oh, perfect, JJ I was just looking for you – San Fran sent me another file and you’re going to want to see it, they just found a new body.” She was organized but came off as frantic. Urgency and concern dripped from every word, which struck Maeve as charming. Concern for the dead.

“Continue with the briefing as normal, Garcia print off copies for each of us and get them ready on the jet.” Hotch directed as both him and JJ ducked into the room.

Maeve paused, shooting Garcia a smile and gently touching her shoulder. “I’m Maeve, I’m sure we’ll chat soon.”

“Penelope Garcia,” She replied with a broad smile before bustling away down the hall, only pausing to call out, “Sooner than you’d think.”

With that Maeve ducked into the room and took in as much information as she could. Aaron was just sliding into his chair, and JJ had taken her place at the head of the table. To the right of the table sat two men with dark hair, one older and white, the other young and dark skinned. Beside them was a dark-haired woman, her pale skin highlighted by her blood red sweater. Maeve took the other side, sliding down into a seat beside a young brunette man. She felt their eyes, and she met each of them with confidence and a small smile.

“This is Agent Maeve Gray, she’s an international asset from Canada. She’ll be joining us at the BAU for the foreseeable future.” Aaron said gruffly, “This is Special Agent David Rossi, Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Special Agent Derek Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid. Go ahead, JJ.”

“We’ve got two dead in San Francisco,” JJ started, clicking on the screen behind her. Four images popped up, two headshots of young, red head women, and two of their bruised and beaten bodies. Their shoulders, thighs, and abdomens were covered in purple and red. Maeve observed the pattern, eyeing Dr. Reid’s file in front of him. “Marcy Williams, 23, and Layla McGregor, 22. Bodies were found dumped on the banks of Rodeo Lagoon.” JJ continued. “Same bruising, same cause of death; blunt force trauma to the head.”

“Dumped _on_ the banks, not in the lagoon?” Agent Morgan asked, looking to JJ for clarification as he twirled a pen between his fingers.

“No signs on the corpse were consistent with water damage, there was a bit of exposure damage by the elements when we found them, but nothing that would impede the identification of the body.” JJ told him.

“Rodeo Lagoon is over 37 acres of space, and in the middle of multiple historical monuments and protected beaches,” Dr. Reid mused.

“So - it’s large enough to go unnoticed, but public enough that he risks being caught with a corpse?” Agent Prentiss speculated. 

“May I?” Maeve asked under her breath, gently touching the case file in front of Reid with her index finger. He jumped to push it eagerly towards Maeve, and she pulled the glossy photo of one of the victim’s bodies from the paperclip. “Seems to me like the victims may have been suspended by their wrists. It’s the bruising on the sides of the body, up by the shoulders - that’s hard to hit without the arms being held above their head, and by the looks of it he got quite a few good hits in.”

The room was silent for a moment, as if absorbing her words and her voice. She pushed the file back towards Dr. Reid, he stilled it with his hand so that it rested between them, a shared possession now. Maeve was grateful.

“Agent Gray has a point, and the lack of ligature marks on the ankles could reinforce that fact.” Agent Rossi said, giving her an appraising nod. “JJ, get Garcia to reach out to the medical examiner and ask about any damage to their upper body and arms that couldn’t be explained by blunt force trauma.”

“They both also had some unidentified green dust found on their body.” JJ contributed, clicking the remote and bringing up an image of the dust collected. “Forensics is doing more analysis on it, but so far nothing has come up.”

“It’s not from pollen or any flora or fauna in the area?” Reid asked.

“Not from what the San Francisco police have found.” JJ told him. This seemed to be enough for Hotch.

“Wheels up in 45,” Hotchner said, standing up and gathering the case file into his arms. The table followed his lead. “Agent Gray, I trust that’s enough time for you to procure a go bag?”

“I have one in the car,” She replied, giving him a brisk nod.

“Good.” He said before turning on his heel and stalking out the door.

“Optimistic or pessimistic?” Rossi asked, giving her a startling intense look.

“Prepared.” Maeve replied with a small shrug of her shoulders. Rossi seemed to accept that without much argument, nodding in her direction before heading out the door.

“Someone going to be able to feed your cat for you while you’re gone?” Morgan asked then, a lazy smile decorating his face. He was alarmingly handsome.

“I have a timed feeder.” Maeve replied, choosing her words carefully. Her interest was piqued, he had managed to deduce the existence of her cat just by looking at her.

“I bet you do.” Morgan chuckled, as if the existence of her cat, or the feeder, was an inside joke of some sort. He left then, slowly sauntering out of the room as if trying to elongate his presence there.

“You get used to it,” Dr. Reid said, gathering his own file. He was sporting a light beige dress shirt with a brown and white sweater vest overtop. His watch was careful fastened and placed over top of his shirt. “I’m Spencer, by the way.”

“Maeve,” She replied, thankful for the personal introduction.

“I’m Emily,” Agent Prentiss chimed in from across the table. Her slate gray sweater hung softly on her frame, hugging her waist and tucking easily into her slacks. “Welcome to the BAU.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Maeve said, walking towards the door with the two of them. She directed her next question to Emily, “Has it always been a bit of a boys club in the BAU?”

“Isn’t everything always a boys club at first?” Prentiss countered.

“Statistically - ” Spencer started, then stopped himself as Emily shot him a look. Maeve just laughed and nudged Spencer with her elbow.

“You can tell me the statistics after the case,” She suggested, “I’d like to know how many boy’s clubs I’ve infiltrated over my lifetime.”

“If you played a sport growing up then at least 5,” Reid said, so matter of fact that Maeve didn’t doubt him. She raised her eyebrows at Prentiss and shared a small, knowing look. Maeve was sure that like her, Prentiss had spent her whole life infiltrating boy’s clubs – and Emily’s number was definitely over 5.

"Back here in 30." Emily advised her with a nod as they parted ways in the bullpen.

Maeve walked out to her car, nodding and greeting security as she did so. She knew she stood out, she might as well capitalize on it. Her mind was full, and she finally let it drift to Aaron and last Saturday night.

He had seemed so different then, sitting at the bar with a whiskey in his hand. Maeve wondered where those faded blue jeans were now, after seeing him in his suit and tie. He had worn a simple black t-shirt; the material was expensive but understated. Everything about him that had drawn her to him that night seemed different in retrospect – even him. Here he was all business, all shades of black and gray.

Again, her thoughts drifted to the way his hands felt on her body – the warmth of them, how deftly they had travelled up her thighs, down her stomach, across her collar bones. She thought too, of the way they had sat out on her balcony afterwards, limbs entwined as they watched the stars above them. Maeve had laid against his chest and he had wrapped himself around her, she traced patterns across his arm – at first he had flinched, and she wondered how long it had been since he was touched gently. He had left that night to go back home, and Maeve fell asleep in her bed, her cat Cleo snuggled up beside her. She remembered thinking it was probably better that way, anyways.

Now, as Maeve yanked her large black duffel bag out of the trunk of her car, she forced the thoughts from her mind. It would do her no good to carry them back inside the Bureau with her, not when the people she was working with were profilers. Slamming the trunk shut, Maeve symbolically locked the night away. Nothing was as important to her as doing well at this job, and one night – no matter how good it had been – was not going to derail her career.


	2. Chapter 2

When they had said wheels up, Maeve hadn’t thought they meant private jet. She wasn’t sure what she had thought but sitting in the dark brown and cream plush interior was a shock to her system. The seats were buttery and worn, large enough that she could comfortably curl her legs up underneath her if she wanted to. Before they had walked onto the tarmac Hotchner had handed her an FBI issued leather briefcase, complete with an FBI laptop, the current case file, and a Bureau-issued phone.

She found herself seated between the window and Emily, directly facing Aaron. A laptop sat across the aisle from them, open to a livestream of Garcia. It was hard to believe that this was happening.

“So, the third victim is Natalie Bateman, also found on the banks of Rodeo Lagoon.” Garcia was telling them, Maeve listened intently as she poured over her case file. It had been updated to include Natalie’s body, and this time something was different – a purple flower was found thrown on her body. She touched the photo lightly, as if she would be able to understand more from the gentle touch. It sparked then, the importance of the flower.

“The flower’s interesting,” Maeve said, pondering out loud. “Is there any way to tell if it was plucked and placed there?”

She looked up, Hotch’s eyes were burning a hole into her. Maeve swiftly turned to look at the rest of the team.

Reid jumped in from across the aisle. “It looks like Heliotropium, it’s a flower native to Peru.”

“Is it an invasive species?” Aaron asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Reid replied with a shrug. Maeve flipped back through the case file, shimmying the photo of the first dump site out of its paperclip. She scoured the ground, it was faint, a sliver of colour, but there was a crumpled petal barely visible beside Marcy William’s body.

“That _could_ be another petal,” Maeve said, handing Emily the photo. Prentiss scoured the image, cocking her head in consideration. The image circulated through a few of the team members before being handed back to her. She tucked it back in carefully.

“Marcy and Layla were found weeks after being dumped; Natalie was found within two days. It’s possible the elements broke down other flowers before the bodies were found.” Emily mused.

“So, he beats these girls to a pulp and dumps them like trash inches away from a body of water,” Rossi started, considering the new information. “But then goes out of his way to leave them a flower?”

“Not just leaving them a flower,” Emily replied, “If it’s not a native species then he has to source it from somewhere, we should start talking to local florists, see if anyone has had any abnormal interactions – if anyone sticks out in the past few days.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Morgan agreed. It was reluctant, but it was something.

“I’m on it,” Garcia said, clicking away. “There’s 5 florists in the general area, looks like they’re all mom-and-pop shops. Quiet, family run.”

“Go ahead and make some calls.” Hotch nodded, and with that Garcia bleeped out of existence on the screen. Maeve’s head hurt.

“But why the flower?” Rossi asked again.

“And why that one specifically?” Reid added. Maeve sunk back into her chair, letting the weight of the case settle on top of her. They were less than an hour into a 5-hour plane ride and already they were making calls. With the flight time and time zone difference, they would be at the station by the early afternoon. It was going to be a very long day.

The conversation continued, delving into each faucet of the victim’s lives. Each of the girls were in their early twenties, all of them were seen on a Friday, reported missing by Tuesday. Reports from the friends and family of the first two victims told them that they were independent and outgoing. Of course, the red hair was the most obvious linking factor. They all lived away from their parents.

“Okay, JJ, you and Dave go and interview the victim’s families. Start with the latest victim and work your way back, ask about any new people in their lives, partners or friends. Reid, take Agent Gray with you to the victim’s apartments, see if there’s anything we’ve missed or misinterpreted in our victimology.” Hotch instructed, Maeve glanced at Reid and he gave her a small, pressed smile. “Morgan, Prentiss, we’re going to the dump sites.”

Maeve tapped her fingers against the leather briefcase, eager to get going. With only an hour left on the flight, the team dispersed. Morgan, Rossi, and JJ converged in the back corner of the plane, discussing how best to approach victim’s families and what questions to ask. Reid had hunkered down in the seats behind her, and Prentiss excused herself to rifle through the in-flight snack selection.

She focused on the case file in front of her. Hotch shifted in his seat, ever so slightly. His foot slid towards her, just a couple inches. Had she been a little more focused, or even slightly more disciplined, she would have ignored it or not even noticed it to begin with. She considered it, wondering if it was an invitation or simply an adjustment. Maeve looked up, quickly surveying his posture. His left hand was supporting the case file, his right pressed up against his temple. Nothing about him gave away what he was thinking. It was time to take a chance.

She slid her foot out to meet his, slowly letting it rest against the side of his dress shoe. This time, Maeve didn’t look up. He didn’t pull away, she breathed a sigh of relief. A few seconds passed before the cabin door slid open, signalling Emily’s return, and Maeve slowly slid her foot back to rest in her own bubble, crossing her legs loosely at the ankle.

Emily slid into the seat beside Maeve, offering her an apple as she did so. Maeve accepted it gratefully, beaming at Prentiss as she did so.

“Dinner is on our dime,” Prentiss told her, “Better fuel up now while you can.”

Maeve bit down on the apple, her mind already miles away in San Francisco.

-

“Odd.” Maeve said as she walked into Marcy William’s apartment. Everything in the apartment was bright, fun patterned couches took up the living room and small baubles lined the top of the fireplace.

“What’s odd?” Reid asked her, peering over the photographs she had lined on her shelves. Natalie was blonde in the photos, the red hair must have been an unfortunate choice she had made recently.

“Keeping these out in the open like this,” Maeve said, gesturing towards the baubles and knickknacks lining the fireplace. “They obviously have sentimental value, they’re dust free, no cracks or any evidence of mishandling. But they’re so personal. Everything in her apartment is so personal – it’s like she’s screaming ‘this is me’ to anyone who walks in here.”

“Typical of a young adult trying to find their place in this world.” Reid replied, turning to look at her now.

“But not like this,” Maeve continued. “This says that she’s desperate to feel known. That type of desperation, it’s easy to see when you know what you’re looking for. It’s probably what drew the unsub to her.”

“Assuming that she treated her physical appearance the way she treats her house…” Reid built off her point, walking into the bedroom. Maeve followed, surveying the small room. More bright colours jumped out at her, a mandala tapestry hung across the room from her bed. Reid pulled open a drawer, a jumble of bright colours greeted them.

“Didn’t her friends say she liked to go to out to bars on Saturdays?” Maeve asked. “So, she goes out to the bar and never makes it back home. Even leaves her dishes from Saturday’s lunch in the sink – but when she’s found she’s wearing a plain, white dress. That doesn’t seem like typical bar wear for her.”

“You think he’s dressing them before he dumps them?” Reid asked.

“I don’t see anything white or lacey in this closet, do you?” Maeve countered, pulling out a cropped, bedazzled butterfly top.

“I’ll call Hotch.” Reid said with a nod, letting Maeve drop the top back in the drawer before he closed it.

“I’ll call JJ, let her know to ask the victim’s families about their wardrobe choices.” Maeve agreed, pulling out her phone and going through the contacts. The only ones listed were the members of the team, and she found JJ’s quickly.

It was a prompt call, one that left little room for questions. Reid had ended his call and informed her that Natalie had been a blonde when she went missing but turned up as a red head. Another piece of the puzzle.

“This place hasn’t been cleaned since the bodies were found, right?” Maeve asked, looking at the small, two person kitchen table.

“Right.” Reid replied, following her gaze towards the table in front of them. A glass vase glinted in the sunlight, fresh purple flowers arranged artfully inside of it. “Marcy hasn’t been here for weeks, there’s no way those flowers would’ve survived.”

“He’s been here.” Maeve said. “Recently.”

“I bet we’ll find more flowers at the next two victim’s houses.” Reid added grimly.

It took a few more hours to search Layla and Natalie’s apartments, but similar conclusions were drawn. JJ had called back and confirmed that the clothing the girls were found in weren’t clothes that were familiar to the family. By the time they were driving back to the station the sun had just started to sink low on the horizon, and Maeve knew that once they reached the rest of the team it wouldn’t be long before they went back to the hotel room.

“So, what part of Canada are you from?” Reid asked her, suddenly breaking the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

“Toronto.” Maeve replied. This wasn’t necessarily true, but it was close enough. “Where are you from?”

“Las Vegas,” Reid told her, his voice lifting slightly. “You know you don’t strike me as a big city girl.”

“I’m not,” Maeve agreed, not giving him much more to work with. “You don’t seem like a Las Vegas boy.”

“Play me in poker first before you make that deduction,” Reid said with a laugh, pulling into the station. The rental SUV bumped over the curb.

“They don’t let you drive often, do they?” Maeve teased.

“No, they don’t.” Reid replied.

The walk into the station was quick, and they gathered in the briefing room to discuss their individual findings. Eventually, the profile began to take shape. They were looking for a white man, probably in his late 30s to early 40s. A sociopath, most likely sadistic but because of the lack of sexual trauma found it was hard to tell. Most likely, judging from the fact he had dyed Natalie’s hair, he was looking for a girl to fit a specific fantasy. He was probably confident bordering on arrogant, nonremarkable in appearance but charming and unassuming personality wise. His victims were abducted on Saturday nights, from popular university bars, in roughly the same geographical area. Probably drove an SUV.

The mystery of the green powder continued, and Garcia’s calling had proved fruitless. Three out of five of the florists didn’t even carry the specific type of flower in stock, the two that did had no recollection of anyone fitting the unsub’s description. All they had was the profile and a rough triangulation of his preferred hunting territory based on the last places the victims visited. 

“It’s late,” Hotch said, finally, as he finished scribbling down the profile notes. “We’re staying in the Marriott just off the highway, go to the hotel and get a good night’s rest, your bags are already there. Meet back here at 7am to deliver the profile.”

The team shuffled off back to the rentals in the parking lot. Plans were made for dinner, Maeve opted out. She just wanted her pajamas, some room service, and maybe a glass of wine. Hauling herself into the SUV, she wrapped her hands around the wheel and programmed the GPS. It occurred to her, briefly, to wait for Hotch. She pushed that thought from her mind, focusing instead on the highway and her dinner plans. Tomorrow was a new day, and hopefully it was productive.


	3. Chapter 3

Maeve couldn’t sleep, not with the energy of the day whirling around her. The hotel room was small, and the double bed reminded her of her time in college. Outside the California heat blistered, even after the sun had set. As fate would have it Aaron’s room was right beside hers. Nothing but a thin wall separated them. She wondered what side of the room his headboard was on.

It was all too much to bear. For hours now she had tried to unwind. The balcony called her name and Maeve grabbed her glass of wine, stepping out into the night and embracing the heat. Her bare feet felt good against the warm tiles, and she inhaled deeply as she settled down into the lounge chair. It was time to push the case to the back of her mind, at least if she wanted to sleep tonight.

An ice cube clinked gently against a glass and Maeve froze. It had come from Aaron’s balcony. She set her glass down, letting it clink against the glass side table in response. Silence fell heavily.

“I thought I told you to get some rest,” Aaron said, his voice carrying over the small hedge wall separating them. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

“I tried to,” Maeve replied. She was tentative, slowly dipping her toe in cold water. “I never promised anything.”

The silence fell again, somehow it was comfortable.

“Whiskey on the rocks?” She guessed, after a few moments.

“Pink wine?” Aaron said, in way of a response. Maeve looked at her glass, a smile quirking up the sides of her lips.

“With real strawberry flavour.” She joked.

Memories from the bar flitted through her mind. It was her first night out in Virginia, the air was warm and humid, and Maeve was craving company. She hadn’t gone out looking for more than a good conversation. The bar she had picked was known for its live music and craft beer, so she assumed it was going to be an older crowd – and when she pushed open the thick wooden door her suspicions were confirmed. It was inviting, dark wooden accents bathed in golden light. People lined the booths across from the bar and were scattered throughout the front tables. In the back of the bar, the band played country renditions of classic rock tunes. Aaron had been sitting at the bar, alone.

Maeve had known then she wanted to talk to him. His posture, the straight back and suggestion of slumped shoulders. The black cotton t-shirt was enough to tell her that he hadn’t come to be noticed, and the faded blue jeans looked old and worn in. Still – he took pride in his appearance. He was physically fit, and his shirt was tucked neatly into his pants and held tight by a black leather belt.

Aaron’s presence had been like a gravitational pull, she hadn’t been able to walk by without brushing his back ever so slightly. Seating herself two seats away had been safe but telling. Far enough away that if he wasn’t interested she wouldn’t bother him, but close enough for him to initiate contact. When the bartender swung by to take her order, Maeve made sure to tuck her hair behind her ear, opening up his line of sight. When the bartender swung by again to deliver her glass of rose, Maeve stole a glance in his direction. He had disappeared.

“Whiskey, on the rocks.” A male voice said from her immediately right and Maeve barely managed not to jump in her seat, instead she turned to look at him. He was leaning on the bar, and when their eyes met he gave her a wry smile, thanking her for her participation in his little game.

Maeve returned the smile, pushing her hair behind her shoulder and turning in her seat to open herself up. “Quite the businessman’s drink,” she observed. That wry smile played on his lips again, but this time Maeve knew it was to keep his secrets locked up. “But, I suspect that if you were a businessman, you’d have ordered top shelf whiskey by name.”

“Oh?” Aaron replied, his interest piqued now. The bartender arrived with his drink and he sat down beside her, having finally made his decision to stay. “Why would I have done that?”

“To be impressive, and maybe a bit flashy. Tells women that not only do you have money, but you spend it too.” Maeve told him, before reaching over and giving his glass a tap. “But a normal whiskey and ice? Well, that’s not a businessman’s drink – that’s a drink for a man that’s having a bad day.”

“My day’s a little bit better now,” Aaron replied, offering her his hand. “I’m Aaron.”

“Maeve.” She replied, taking it immediately. Sparks shot through her body then.

Maeve felt that same heat building in her stomach now as they sat on the balcony in silence. San Francisco was alive below them, and here they sat – looking down on it all.

“You did good work on the Highway of Tears murders.” Aaron said, deciding to fill the silence again. “Two men are behind bars because of you.”

“Thank you,” Maeve said, standing up from the lounge chair and taking the few steps to the edge of the balcony. “But it’s nothing compared to what your team does every single day.”

“You’re good at that,” Aaron observed, his voice matter-of-fact, “Deflecting, letting yourself be a mirror for the people around you. I didn’t notice it at first, but it’s impossible to miss now.”

Maeve leaned forwards on the balcony, resting her elbows against the smooth plastic edge. Dangling her glass between her fingers, she considered her answer carefully.

“The profiling never stops, does it?” Maeve teased lightly, her words hanging heavily in the silence. Aaron wouldn’t be the one to break it this time. She considered her words carefully, “It’s hard to turn off.”

“When did it get turned on?”

“I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.”

Aaron stood up from his own chair and she listened as he made his way to the railing. She could see him now in her peripheral, a dark black outline against the city-lit sky.

“This team will find out, eventually.” Aaron told her, “When they’re not focused on a case and have time to breathe, they’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t see how they would,” Maeve replied.

“They’re good.” He assured her. “They’re the best, and the team is like a family. They’ll figure it out.”

“That we slept together once?” Maeve questioned. Disbelief rang out in her voice, it seemed ridiculous to her that they could deduce something as insignificant as that. _Though_ , a little voice in the back of her head nagged, _it wasn’t exactly insignificant_. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Do you want it to be once?” Aaron asked then, yanking her out of her thoughts. The question was probing, gentle, with no malice behind it. A beat passed; Maeve considered it.

“No,” She answered honestly. There was an edge to her voice, as if admitting this was a defeat.

“Okay.” Aaron replied, and his footsteps retreated inside. The screen door opened and slid closed. Just like that he disappeared into his hotel room. Maeve’s head spun, she waited for a minute or two to see if he would come back out. He didn’t.

She downed her glass of wine, feeling suddenly like she had lost a game when she had no idea what the rules were. Had her honesty been her downfall? Or had he known all along that that would be her answer? Maeve sighed, letting her head drop as she gnawed on her bottom lip. Exhaustion coursed through her body. She went inside then, finally ready for this day to end.


	4. Chapter 4

When morning finally arrived, Maeve was more than ready to greet it head on. Her alarm was set for 6am, she had woken up well before that. Maybe it had been the jetlag, or maybe she was just ready to put a killer behind bars. Either way, come 5:30, Maeve was up and in the shower. By 6 her hair was dry and her makeup was done, and by 6:15 she had managed to pick out a satisfactory outfit. Today she wore warm brown cigarette pants and a cream-coloured blouse, her hair was wrapped in a thick braid down her back her same signature strands softening her face.

Continental breakfast was served buffet style in the dining room, but Maeve was only interested in the coffee. She procured the largest cup available, filled it to the brim, and sat down in the far corner of the room, surveying the guests. Most of them were young couples, decked out in hiking gear. Her mind filtered through the case information – more stuck out to her. Today was the day they would catch him, she felt almost sure of it.

“You’re going to get the jitters if that’s all you plan on drinking this morning,” A deep male voice said, and Maeve turned to find Rossi standing above her, holding a plate full of pastries and fruit.

“I’ve never been one for breakfast,” Maeve admitted with a shrug. “Lunch foods are more my speed.”

“Lunch is a rare delicacy on this job.” Rossi told her, sliding into the seat across from her. “We missed you at dinner last night, most people would’ve jumped at the chance to get to know their team mates better.”

“I figure I’ll let the curiosity fade first,” Maeve countered, feeling suddenly like they were sizing each other up. “The more they get used to me on the job, the less they’ll analyze me outside of it.”

“That’s a risky game you’re playing,” He said, chomping down on a croissant. Maeve didn’t ask him to elaborate. “Every time I get one of these, I hope they’re good and every time I’m disappointed.”

“How optimistic of you,” She teased, recalling their previous interaction.

“I suppose it is,” Rossi considered this. Maeve reached over and grabbed one of the oranges off his plate, depositing it into her purse. He watched her, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything.

“For lunch.” Maeve supplied, pulling out the rental car keys. “I’m assuming you’re driving?”

Rossi took the keys from her, palming them expertly. “You would be right.”

They stood then, an unspoken agreement between them as they made their way out of the hotel and into the California heat. Rossi was wearing shades that made him look very much like a mafia boss, and Maeve had to fight back a smile.

“You know,” Rossi said, his voice taking on a conspiratory tone, “I’ve never seen Hotch take to a new agent the way he’s taken to you.”

Maeve almost faltered. Aaron had been right, the team would figure it out if they weren’t careful. But it didn’t seem like it was _Maeve_ that had to be more cautious.

“If that’s him taking to me then I can only imagine what it was like for the other agents,” She replied.

“Ask Prentiss about how he first was with her,” Rossi advised. “She’ll have a few stories.”

“He must be familiar with my work back home.” Maeve suggested, this much she knew to be true. He had said so last night on the balcony.

“Right,” Rossi said in a way that made Maeve think he meant the exact opposite.

By the time they reached the station, Hotch and JJ were already in full swing. JJ was out front, surrounded by reporters looking for anything they could put on the morning news. Rossi’s sunglasses suddenly made sense to Maeve as she avoided eye contact with both the reporters and the cameras while they walked inside. It was a minute before they located Aaron, visible only through blinds in the captain’s office. They were in the middle of a conversation and judging from the crease of Aaron’s brow – it wasn’t exactly going well.

“That doesn’t look good,” Maeve said with a slight jerk of her chin towards the captain’s office.

“And how would you know that?” Rossi countered, serving Maeve with a look that told her that what had been obvious to her about Aaron’s behaviour probably shouldn’t have been.

He was right, both the men should have been relative strangers to her and they seemed to be having a normal enough conversation. It _was_ odd that Maeve could tell something was wrong. She didn’t have an answer that didn’t give her away, there was no way to pin it on the captain’s behaviour.

“Same way you do,” Maeve told him, “Classic signs of polite agitation from both parties.”

“Fair enough,” Rossi said, and this time it came across as his way of saying game well played.

Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid weren’t far behind them, each either wearing or tucking away a pair of sunglasses. Maeve made a mental note: never leave home without them from now on. By the time they exchanged their morning greetings Aaron and the captain had finished their conversation and he stalked out to meet them.

Maeve watched him move across the bullpen, all too aware of how good he looked in his white dress shirt. He had complimented it with a crimson tie, black dress pants, and a black blazer. Dark circles under his eyes indicated that he had just about as much rest as she had. Maeve was suddenly thankful for makeup and coffee.

“They found another body this morning.” Aaron informed them and Maeve cocked her head. “Tossed in a ditch on the side of the highway.”

“His timeline’s escalating,” Prentis said.

“And so is his violence.” Aaron replied, passing Rossi a photo. Maeve peeked at it over his shoulder, she winced. The girl was beaten so badly she was barely recognizable, her hair was poorly dyed and patchy.

“He’s devolving.” Rossi replied. 

Aaron split them up again, sending Reid and Prentiss off to the new dump site to scour for new information or DNA. Morgan called Garcia and asked her to look for anyone missing that might fit the unsub’s profiled victims. Hotch, JJ, and Rossi delivered the profile to a rapt team of detectives and police officers with grace and precision. Maeve observed them deliver the profile, admiring how well perfected the act was. When the officers dispersed to do their own recon, Maeve found herself drawn back to the board.

“Hey – I know we’re working off the theory that the shop owners probably didn’t notice him because he’s unassuming, but what if he wasn’t there to buy the flowers?” Maeve said, “If this guy craves control, and if the beating is his way of enacting that control – maybe it transfers over to another part of his life. What if he’s growing the flowers himself?”

“Call Garcia,” Hotch instructed her, “Ask her to see what stores in the area would supply seeds for that specific type of flower and what type of climate he would need to be growing them.”

Maeve did as she was told, pulling out her work phone and searching through the contacts. She clicked on Garcia’s number and swallowed down the uncertainty mounting in her throat.

“Speak and be heard, mortal,” Garcia’s voice greeted happily. Maeve paused.

“Is this Penelope Garcia?” She asked tentatively.

“You guessed it.” Garcia responded, “This must be marvelous Maeve I’ve heard so much about, what can I do you for?”

“You’ve heard about me?” Maeve asked, everything about the interaction had thrown her off balance.

“Only the juicy stuff.” Garcia teased still, her fingers clacking away on her keyboard.

“Uh, I need you to look into shops or stores around the area that sell Heliotrope seeds.” Maeve told her. Keys clacked quickly in her ear, somehow something told Maeve that not everything that went on in Penelope’s office was 100% legal.

“There are two in the area.” Garcia informed her, “Same two shops that sell the flowers.”

“How long does it take to grow the flowers to fruition?” Maeve asked, and Garcia typed away again.

“It looks like a very specific environment is required for the heliotrope to bloom, it’s too early in the season for them to be grown outside. Looks like it takes up to 48 days for the seeds to germinate, they are finicky and require lots of sunlight and lots of shade.” Garcia told Maeve.

“So let’s say he’s had the seeds for 9 to 10 weeks at least,” Maeve built off of Garcia, “And he would have to be an intermediate gardener, with space and time to care for the plant properly.”

“Put her on speaker,” Rossi directed and Maeve obliged, finding herself suddenly surrounded by a pack of profilers.

“Garcia, I need you to look at anyone who’s purchased these seeds 8-12 weeks ago. We’re looking for a middle-class white man in his 30s or 40s.” Rossi instructed. More typing ensued.

“I’ve got 9, how can I narrow this down?” She replied.

“Cross reference those card numbers with credit card numbers of people at the bar the same nights of the abductions.” Aaron suggested.

“Bingo,” Garcia said, “Marcus Furrow – records show he was at each of the bars the nights they were abducted.”

“How did police miss that?” JJ asked, “They said they gathered all the information they could.”

“He was using a bunch of different credit cards at different institutions, but he only changed his middle initial on the cards. It’s enough to escape detection on a basic search, but I am no basic bitch.” Garcia told them.

“Do we have an address?” Hotch asked.

“145 Pineridge Dr,” Garcia said, “I’ll call the others, let them know to meet you there.”

“Agent Hotchner, we just had a call from another family – they said that their daughter Lisa Miller didn’t come back home last night.” Captain Morty butt in, thrusting a phone in his general direction. JJ took it out of his hand – pressing it to her ear and immediately taking down any and all information she could procure.

“Let’s go, now. Maeve, come with me.” Aaron said, so focused on the mission at hand he had forgotten, just for a second, that he should’ve called her Agent Gray. Maeve wouldn’t have noticed, except Rossi threw her a look before parting that told her they had been found out.

Maeve followed dutifully behind Aaron as JJ and Rossi peeled off to their rental. He supplied her with a bulletproof vest before they slid into the front seat. Grateful for the added protection, she slung it over her shoulders and tightened all of the straps. It fit snugly, but not too tightly. The car ride there was quick, Aaron briefed her on where to stand and made sure she was aware of any tactical maneuvers they might pull.

“JJ does most of the talking when we get there.” Aaron told her, “She’s unassuming and blonde, he won’t consider her a threat.”

Garcia called then, and Maeve reached over to yank the phone out of Hotch’s pocket.

“Go Garcia,” Hotch said once Maeve clicked on the speakerphone.

“So I did some digging and it turns out that these might not be the only deaths our guy is party to.” She told them.

“There’s more?” Maeve asked.

“Just one, the original girlfriend – I’m assuming anyways. A girl named Katherine Wilde died in a tragic boating accident when she was 13, it looks like they were going too fast, hit a rock face, and the boat pretty much exploded on impact.” Garcia said, “They found her face down on the banks of a nearby shore, DOA. Matheson was named in the article as her best friend.”

“Furrow was prepubescent when he lost Katherine, that could explain the lack of sexual assault on the victims.” Aaron replied. “But we’re missing a secondary trigger, why did he start now?”

“His mom died a couple months ago.” Garcia told him, this was sufficient. They ended their call with little niceties, and a simple “Garcia out.”

They were the first car to get there, JJ and Rossi arriving immediately after. Morgan, Prentiss and Reid followed quickly behind, the rest of the police force behind them. Aaron was in the middle of giving orders when the front door creaked open. Immediately Maeve yanked her gun out, focusing it on the unsub.

“What’s this all about then?” He asked, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. “What are you doing on my property?”

“Marcus Furrow,” Morgan yelled, “Put your hands up, you’re under arrest.”

He obliged, wild brown hair curling and jutting out in all different directions.

“Where is Lisa Miller?” Morgan demanded. He had him down on the ground and arrested within minutes, and by the time he had his rights read to him, he was escorted away in a police cruiser. Protesting his guilt all the while. A quick check of the house provided no evidence that any of the girls had ever been there.

“There’s not even a plant in sight,” Prentiss told them, shaking her head. “Did we get it wrong?”

“No,” Aaron said, “I don’t think so, he fits the profile. We just need to get him talking.”

“And to figure out where he’s hiding his latest victim.” Maeve replied grimly.

Maeve steeled herself, the team spent another hour or so at the scene while Furrow was locked down in custody. When they finally returned, Morgan was well into the interview. Reid and Prentiss had stayed behind, searching for anything that might help locate his latest victim. From behind the mirrored window, Furrow looked even more erratic and unhinged then at his house.

Hours melted away, Morgan was landing every verbal punch he threw, Furrow had barely been holding on. Admittedly, he was stubborn – the lack of physical evidence was in his favour. Cockiness was where he would find his fault though, eventually. Morgan just had to keep pushing. She could taste the tension in the air, it was only so long until he lawyered up.

A thought was still niggling in the back of her head, something here was obvious but so easily overlooked. Her phone was in her hand before she was fully cognisant of her movements, and it only took 2 rings for Garcia to pick up.

“Twice in one day? I’m a lucky girl.” Garcia purred on the other end.

“Garcia – what do we have on Furrow’s parents, again?” Maeve asked.

“Dad was in the picture one day and gone the next, left Furrow and his mother and never looked back. Furrow would have been around 13 when it happened.” Garcia rehashed the information with her. Morgan had tried that angle, Furrow didn’t break.

“The same year that the boating accident happened?” Maeve clarified. Mulling it over in her head again.

“Yup, exactly. And mom died a few months ago, just a couple of weeks before the first abduction.” She replied, “I was just finishing combing through her assets, it looks like he sold most of her estate. Which is odd because you’d think tha-”

“Is there anything else?” Maeve interjected. She had a hunch, but nothing had panned out.

“You know – it’s funny, she was a florist,” Garcia told her, clacking away on her computer keys. “I found a newspaper clipping with an advertisement on it, but it was nothing but a phone number to order from. No shop or physical location.”

“Because it’s not a shop, it’s a _greenhouse_.” She whispered, suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of finding the last girl alive. “Garcia – you’re sure that she didn’t have any other properties? It would maybe be a plot of land?”

Keys clacked furiously. “I need a minute.” Garcia hummed, still typing away.

“It looks like they used to own land just outside of town when they were married,” She said, “But the deed seemingly disappeared around the same time that dad did.”

“Send us the address.” Maeve said, feeling overwhelmed with the sudden possibility of finding Lisa alive.

“Doesn’t have one, but to the best of my ability it looks like it’s out in the boonies, just north of Rodeo Lagoon.” Garcia responded, “I’m sending you all the information I have now, super sleuth.”

Maeve, now hopeful, charged back to the room. She marched up to Hotch; faith and excitement written all over her face.

“I know where he’s got her, Garcia’s sending the location!” She exclaimed, and Aaron gestured towards the door. Maeve didn’t hesitate – she took the chance immediately. Pushing open the door she strode languidly into the room. Furrow’s eyes followed her, she absent-mindedly typed a few keys on her phone before she settled in beside Derek, leaning her hip on the back of his chair.

“We found the greenhouse, Marcus,” She told him, finally sparing a glance in his direction. Boredom was evident in her voice.

This, after undergoing hours with Morgan’s nonstop badgering and verbal punches, was enough to make him snap. He jerked up in his chair, the cockiness dissipated and turned to rage – and that rage caused him to lunge at her. Maeve tried her hardest not to flinch, instead taking a slow step backwards – controlling her every reaction. Morgan had anticipated the break, grabbing Furrow’s shoulders and slamming him down into his chair.

Furrow started screaming obscenities, all of them directed towards the violent things he would do to Maeve as she left the room. Closing the door behind her, his voice carried over the speakerphone in the hallway. Hotch was on the phone with Prentiss when she found him.

“If she’s there the team will find her,” Hotch told her, “Prentiss and Reid just pulled up, the greenhouse was just a couple acres away from Furrow’s house, tucked back in the woods . We’ve got some loose ends to wrap up here and then we’re off. Good delivery in there.”

And then he was gone, charging through the bullpen – off to finish his last few tasks. Morgan came up behind her then, stretching his neck and back as he did so. “Greenhouse?” He asked her.

“Uh – it was in the family, his father stole it from mother when he left them, that’s why it didn’t turn up in Garcia’s initial searches.” Maeve said with a shrug. “Did he confess?”

“Yeah, it didn’t take long after you left for the confessions to come flying out.” He told her, giving her a small nudge with his upper arm. 

“Good,” Maeve said, content with the small role she had played.

A call from Prentiss interrupted them then, Morgan answered it hastily. They had found Lisa, she was badly beaten but would be okay eventually. Across the bullpen Hotch was receiving an identical phone call from JJ, and he immediately broke the news to Lisa’s waiting parents.

Maeve watched the joy and relief flood their faces, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over her. It was over, for now. Today was a good day.

Morgan crossed his arms against his chest – deep in thought. When he spoke, it was measured. “Hey – did Hotch tell you what to do, how to deliver the news?”

“No – just went with my gut.” She replied, choosing to ignore any implications that came with his question. “Figured he was only maintaining his composure was because he was secure in his secret and that undermining it and him in the same go would devastate him.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Morgan told her.

“Yeah – I _figured_ ,” Maeve teased lightly, earning a smile from him. “What happens now?”

“We pack up here, pack up at the hotel, and head home.” He said, “And you get to do your first ever FBI case file.”

“Joy.” She said, and it was.


	5. Chapter 5

The plane ride home was quiet – most of the team had passed out. She couldn’t blame them, with the time change and late departure it was well past 1am on their internal clocks. Emily and JJ had curled up across from each other in the four-seater area, while Morgan sprawled out on the couch. Reid opted for the two-seater beside Prentiss and JJ, his legs stretched out as far into the aisle as he could get them. Rossi, Aaron, and her were the only ones up – she had picked the secluded back corner, letting Rossi and Aaron decompress after the case together. Maeve got the impression that they were much closer than they let on at work.

She turned to look out the window, content to be alone with her mp3 player and her thoughts. Cities, small towns, and open fields all passed by her window, visible only by their lights or lack thereof. A warm touch on her shoulder broke her from her reverie, Aaron was looking down at her. Plucking her earphones out, she fumbled for the pause button on her player.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Of course,” Maeve replied, suddenly aware of the shoes she had kicked off under her chair and the way she had folded her socked feet under her. Not exactly the most professional sitting position to be speaking to your boss in.

“You were good out there,” Aaron told her, “You’ve got solid instincts and a strong compass.”

Maeve nearly bristled at the compliment. She knew she should’ve appreciated it – but the fact of the matter was that she had run into the interrogation room with little more than a hunch. Luck had been the driving factor in that arrest, not fact. Had she been back home she would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist at worst, but only because it worked out. Things tended to work out for her, and men tended not to like that.

“Thank you, Hotch.” She said, “For trusting me to go into the interview room blindly.”

There was a very pregnant pause, and Hotch leveled her with a gaze that told her he had something important to say.

“Are you really only 27?” He finally asked, disbelief colouring his voice. Maeve laughed then, a brief but joyful one. He had guard her off guard, and now he gave her a sheepish grin.

“Yeah,” Maeve told him after stifling her laughter. She didn’t ask where he had found that out, it didn’t matter. “You couldn’t tell?”

“Well, no.” Aaron replied, his mouth crinkling in a way that told Maeve he was trying not to laugh too. “I guess I didn’t really consider it.”

“Hotch – I have a baby face.” Maeve countered, her disbelief now matching his.

“And I assumed you were 30 with a baby face, not 27.” Aaron told her, looking at her almost expectantly now. _You’re a mirror for everyone around you_ , his words from last night, rang out clearly in her head. “You’re younger than Reid.”

“It’s a long story.” Maeve said, forfeit in her voice. She watched David reach over and take Spencer’s Walkman off the armrest next to him, sliding the earphones over his ears. He spared her one last, long, glance before turning his attention to the paperwork in front of him.

“Please,” Aaron said, and the floor was hers. Maeve took a deep breath before relaying the story to him with as much detail as she could bear.

Maeve had joined the RCMP at 22, after doing a 4 year criminology degree at a top Canadian university. In a decision that many people would call lucky, Maeve found herself in the middle of a highly public murder investigation in her first year. The lead detective had told her that he saw something in her, something intelligent, something different. All he had seen in her, though, was himself – and when she went to her higher ups, they gave her a choice: report him, or get a promotion. Maeve was given a once in a lifetime chance for a rookie cop, move off the streets and into a detective role. Part of her knew what would happen to her career if she didn’t take it, too.

So Maeve took it. And she worked hard every single day to prove she deserved it. She was the first one in every morning and the last one to leave every night. Maeve solved murder case after murder case, robbery after robbery, and even worked with the human trafficking unit a couple times over her three years. But it didn’t matter. Everyone knew how she had gotten her job, or at least they thought they did.

That was why Maeve jumped at the chance to work the Highway of Tears murders. It was remote, way out in British Columbia, away from everyone at her station. Everyone who had worked the case before was a man, and the RCMP figured that if their top detectives couldn’t solve the case then what harm was it to have the rookie work on it?

“I was only assigned to the case because they were facing pressure from the Native communities up north and they wanted someone they could pin the blame on,” Maeve explained to Hotch. “I’m sure they thought I would run into the same problems they did. Native communities didn’t want to work with the police, there was ample DNA evidence but nobody they could point to in the system. The idea was that I would burn out after a few months, they could pin the failure on me in the media, and I would go back to working hit and runs and break ins.”

“But that’s not what happened.” Aaron supplied, easing the story along.

“I figured, there’s no way all these women go missing and nobody cares enough to talk to the police. I started at the beginning and worked my way forwards, I was on the reserves every morning – eventually the communities learned to trust me.” Maeve continued.

It was easy from there, piecing together the women’s final moments. Eventually it occurred to Maeve that these women were all travelling south, towards more populous city centres. She called every single trucking and shipping company she could find, cross referenced the drivers working that night in the area with criminal records.

“I solved it within two months,” Maeve told Aaron. “We arrested them with a girl in the back, she was nearly frozen to death. She’d only been missing a day. It was enough to bring them in for questioning, and I was the one who got Matheson to crack. After that they couldn’t just keep me as a rookie detective anymore – the media attention was too great, you saw the profiles they did on me. If they hadn’t have promoted me then it would’ve been an inequality nightmare.”

So, she moved up the ranks again. Currently she was a Special Agent in the Major Crimes RCMP Taskforce. Maeve had been selected to take part in the international exchange, the idea being that when she returned she would start running a training program.

Maeve took a deep breath when she finished, breathing was the only thing holding her together. 

“It sounds like you’ve worked hard to get to where you are,” Aaron told her. “And that you deserve to be here.”

This was not what she expected to hear. She shifted in her seat, unsure of what to say.

“You know, Garcia probably knows all of this already.” Aaron said thoughtfully. The real meaning was implied: if Garcia knew, the whole team knew. Maeve winced. “That means you can join them for dinner next time.”

“Only if you come too.” Maeve countered. Feeling bold, she offered him her outstretched pinky. He looked at it, then back to her, then back to it. His meaning was plain: what am I supposed to do with that?

Aaron relented after a while, entwining their pinky fingers together. “I’ll come if I can find a babysitter for Jack.”

Maeve registered the information; Jack was his kid. Babysitter implied that the mom was either no longer in the picture or unable to take care of him. She processed it and let it settle in her mind. Another piece of the Aaron Hotchner puzzle: he was a father.

“Well,” Maeve said carefully, “If you can’t, I’m proficient in the art of finger painting and fireside sing-a-longs.”

“How are you with superheroes?” Aaron asked her. He hadn’t rebuked her offer. Maeve felt her heart heave in her chest, she was being invited in.

“I’ll learn.” She promised. Aaron touched the back of her hand as he stood, letting his fingertips linger there. Maeve flipped her hand around, watching as his fingers trailed down her palm and over hers. Then he was gone, back to Rossi, back to work. She leaned her head against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself. Sleep fell gently over her, like a warm blanket on a cool night.


	6. Chapter 6

The bullpen on Monday was buzzing. With their latest case over and nothing urgent on the horizon, JJ was slow to get to her office this morning. Stopping instead to chat in the bullpen with her family. Hotch was holed up in his office, typing away and JJ leaned on the wall of Reid’s cubicle.

“Was it this obvious with Will and I?” She asked the team, watching Hotch glance up, ever so slightly, each time the elevator doors opened.

“Actually, you guys were worse.” Spencer told her, swivelling in his chair to look up at her. “We knew practically the whole time.”

“No way.” JJ refuted, her voice bordering on indignant.

“Oh, yes way.” Emily replied, joining in from her cubicle across the aisle “You know – I’m not 100% convinced that we’re not imagining things. Maybe he just wanted to show some American hospitality with the briefcase.”

“Remind me again - what briefcase did he give you?” Reid asked her, intrigued. “And how long after you started working here were you comfortable sitting directly across from your boss on a 5 hour flight?”

“The puffy gray one, with the mesh pockets.” Emily replied dryly, admitting defeat in her tone. “Honestly, some days I still prefer the aisle seat.”

“I’m with Emily – I think she’s too young for him. She’s younger than you, Reid.” Morgan pointed out, “Not his type.”

“Not his type?” JJ asked, “What do you think, Spence?”

“I have no comment.” Reid said with a shrug, twirling a pencil between his fingers.

“No, what you have is a thing for blondes.” Emily joked, and the conversation devolved into prodding Spencer about Lila once again.

“But seriously – how long did it take him to refer to you by your first name in field, Morgan?” JJ asked him and Morgan shook his head.

“At least a year,” He replied. “But that still doesn’t mean that they’re involved – she’s been in the country for less than two weeks.”

Then the elevator dinged. Aaron looked up. The crease on his brow lessened, his expression lightened. All the profilers had to do to confirm what they already knew was look left, and watching Maeve step into the bullpen sealed the deal for them. Reid focused on her expression, the way her eyes instinctively went to check Hotch’s office first, a smile playing on her lips when she got confirmation of his presence.

JJ took a more critical approach, even though the briefcase was securely slung over her shoulder, Maeve’s fingers wrapped around it in a delicate sort of way. JJ knew that type of hold, the kind that reassured you of something or someone.

Morgan had been watching Hotch, the change of his expression was one thing – but he was looking for something more. Something, anything, to indicate that it was more than him simply taking to her. Then Hotch’s eyes found his and Morgan raised an eyebrow – Hotch looked away. Guilt.

“Well,” Morgan said, “I’ve seen enough. Reid – I owe you ten bucks.”

“I wish I’d gotten in on that,” Emily mused before turning to JJ. “Hey – JJ – I’ll bet you a bottle of wine that they sleep together within the next week.”

“Two bottles says they do it while we’re on a case,” JJ replied, they shook on it.

“Oh, c’mon you really think that Hotch would do something like that while we’re working a case?” Reid demanded, a soft edge to his voice – a consideration.

“This coming from the boy who went skinny dipping with a celebrity in her pool.” Morgan teased.

“Hey – we were fully clothed.” Reid said, a frantic edge to his voice. “And furthermore that was not my choice.”

“But kissing her certainly was.” Morgan countered. Maeve had made her way to join them now, taking her coat off and putting it in the cubicle beside Spencer’s.

“Kissing who?” Maeve asked and JJ wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to the group.

“Have you ever heard of a famous movie star named Lila Archer?” Emily asked her, ignoring Reid’s futile protests.

“Sure – she’s hot.” Maeve responded and Morgan laughed.

“Yeah, Reid sure thinks so too.” He told her.

“If she needs to know then I’m the one telling her.” Reid interjected, shushing the crowd with his hands as he told her the story of Lila and her stalker. Out of all the expected outcomes, a high five was low on his list – but it was what he got. After a couple more minutes of light hearted banter, Hotch emerged from his office – signalling that play time was over.

“We just got a call from Alaska.” He said, hands gripping the bullpen railing. “Wheels up in two hours. Pack warmly. Agent Gray – I’d like to go over your case study before we board.”

“Prentiss, can I get in on that bet?” Morgan asked, watching as Maeve hurried up the stairs to join Hotch in his office.

“Sure,” Emily said with a laugh.

“Three bottles of wine says that it’s tonight.”

“Oh – you’re on.”


	7. Chapter 7

The case briefing had been quick, three university girls were found dead in their dorms. Each of them found tucked into bed, their throats slit. All the obvious aspects of the profile were handled right off the bat, every option was explored in the first three hours of the flight. The staging of the body suggested guilt, and the DNA found at all three crime scenes matched which indicated that the unsub was someone they trusted. Garcia was running through all and any overlaps between the victims outside of the obvious: all going to the same university, all living on campus.

With 6 hours of the flight left everyone dispersed throughout the plane again. It was almost uncanny, the way that everyone spread themselves out through the plane. Emily and Spencer settled down for a game of poker in the back corner, JJ had left almost immediately after them – pulling a book out of her bag and hunkering down on the couch. Morgan joined her there a few moments later, putting one earbud from his mp3 in and closing his eyes.

Maeve stayed seat, contentedly enjoying the view. Aaron in front of her and the Canadian landscape from the window of the plane – she wasn’t sure how life could get any sweeter. Her mind drifted to the wet, cool air in northern British Columbia, missing the way that the pines smelled right after heavy rain. Rossi sat beside her, leaning on what should’ve been her armrest, scribbling away mindlessly at the Sudoku in front of him. Maeve didn’t care – happy to stare out the window while Aaron poured over the case file for the hundredth time.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Rossi pulled his phone out, reading what Maeve could only assume was a text before he closed his sudoku book and stretched – meandering back towards the in-flight makeshift kitchen. And then, they were alone.

Gathering up the case file, Maeve thumbed through the gathered evidence – touching each photo, hoping for a surge of inspiration. Something kept drawing her to the second photo, of Kaylee Bundt’s dorm room - something was off.

“What are you thinking?” Hotch asked her, his voice was low.

“There’s something wrong about Kaylee’s room…” She replied, matching her volume with his. A shiver ran up her spine. Something about the hushed conversation, a private little secret between the two of them, was enough to send little sparks throughout her body. “Something’s off.”

Without her conscious knowledge, Maeve had edged her feet over the invisible line separating her space from Hotch’s. He responded in kind, sliding his foot in to rest against hers. It was a small, subtle thing – but it was as close as they had allowed themselves to get to touching since their first night together. Electricity crackled through her body, she felt like a livewire had come undone in her stomach.

Getting back from San Francisco had been uneventful. They got home in the early hours of Saturday morning, and everyone had taken their work home with them. Maeve spent her weekend alone, working on her first ever FBI field report – her only company being Cleo and a bottle of pink wine. Prentiss and Reid had both reached out over the weekend, letting her know that if she had any questions they were available to help. After two hours’ worth of agonizing over how to best to phrase their tactical approach Maeve eventually reached out to Emily, and when she ran into another roadblock she managed to pluck up the courage to call Spencer.

Aaron hadn’t called her, and she hadn’t called him. The most one on one time they had gotten thus far was when he broke down her case file with her, giving her constructive criticism on various sections. Hotch had been all business then and she was grateful for it. Now, sitting together on the plane felt like they were in a world of their own – isolated from the outside.

It clicked then.

“Okay, hear me out.” Maeve started, tapping the bookshelf in the image. “Look at her bookshelf – all of her shelves seem to be organized by collection. Fiction on the top couple shelves, all series grouped together, and it looks like there are textbooks on the bottom.”

“Right.” Aaron said, following her train of thought along.

“So – why would she put her bible on one of the top shelves?” Maeve asked him.

“Maybe it was a satirical move?” Hotch suggested. This was part of the process, eliminating all the possibilities.

“Maybe,” Maeve agreed, “But she’s put it in the middle of a series, breaking the books up. Everything else on the shelf is organized to her liking – this seems out of place. I bet if we took it off that shelf the spine wouldn’t even be cracked.”

“You think it’s a calling card?” Hotch asked her. It was impossible to look away from him now, the adrenaline of adding another piece to the puzzle mixed in with the electricity of touching Hotch. Part of her wondered if he could feel it too.

“I don’t know, maybe.” Maeve told him, her stomach in free fall. “It’s something, at least.”

“It’s something.” Aaron agreed, and Maeve knew he wasn’t talking about the case anymore. Something, indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ sexy stuff ~

It was overcast in Anchorage when they touched down. For Maeve, it was a perfect Canadian spring day - cool enough to warrant a sweater and spring jacket. This was not how the rest of the team felt, she discovered as she watched them button and zip up heavy-duty jackets. Reid seemed to be most affected by the cold, forgoing his usual dress shirt and sweater vest combo in favour of a fleece quarter zip – she had to admit, he looked handsome.

With the time change and the 9-hour flight, they were only really able to get so far. Morgan and Maeve scoured the dorm rooms, and her suspicions were confirmed. None of the bibles had been opened. A deeper inspection into the rooms confirmed what the victim’s families had said to Emily and Reid, the girls had never even been religious – much less Catholic. 

Garcia couldn’t find any evidence of recent involvement in religious institutions, but each of them had taken out a reasonable chunk of money from ATMs in the area the day before they went missing. The recycling in Jones and Bundt’s rooms shared another uncanny similarity – empty bottles of cheap booze were found in their recycling. Hours ticked by as they pieced what they could together.

Aaron and Rossi gathered what they could from local law enforcement and campus PD while JJ hosted a press conference reminding the young women on campus to stay extra vigilant and take precautions every time they went out. When they congregated again at the end of the day they had managed to form half a profile, eliminate various hunches, and had given Garcia plenty of information to sift through.

When 7 o’clock rolled around the team was exhausted, keenly feeling the 4-hour time difference now. Prentiss had stifled back one too many yawns to justify keeping them any longer and they were now officially working with the nightshift of the local PD.

“It’s time to turn in,” Hotch told them, shutting Bundt’s case file with finality. “We’ll get back to it in the morning.”

Maeve took her time collecting her belongings, letting the team split themselves up amongst the rental cars. She thumbed through her contacts while JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi left quickly. Morgan and Reid trailed behind. Room service seemed to be the idea of the night – nobody possessing the energy to go anywhere.

Hotch and Maeve were the last ones to leave. This was by her design. It was a silent car ride, the night draped over them like a blanket. Darkness made Maeve bold, and when Aaron rested his arm on the middle console, she let her fingers brush over the back of his hand. He twisted his wrist to meet her halfway, her fingers sliding through his. This wasn’t allowed – but he allowed it nonetheless.

Maeve’s entire body felt warm. It wasn’t enough, this small transgression. She craved more, and judging by the way he looked at her at every red light Aaron did too. Alaskan cityscapes gave way to deep, dark forest as they made their way to the hotel.

A small bed and breakfast was the best they could do if they wanted to keep the team together under one roof, and when Maeve was more than pleased to learn that they would be neighbours again. Taking her key from the concierge and promising to call if she needed anything, the two of them walked up to the third floor together. Her room was first, his door just inches away from hers.

“May I?” Aaron asked, gesturing to her door.

“Of course,” She replied, pushing it open with a sweeping gesture. Aaron slowly walked in, reminding her – very slightly – of a caged animal. Panic swept in and she swallowed it down – she had been too bold in the car.

“Maeve,” He started slowly, the second that the door had closed. “This job … it tears people apart in ways you can’t yet understand.”

She stayed silent.

“I just – you can’t really _have_ a lot when you do this job,” He continued, taking her hands and moving her to sit on the bed. Maeve let herself be guided, watching as he pulled the desk chair up to sit in front of her. “You give it your all every single day and you’re lucky if there’s something left for you at the end of it.”

Maeve’s mind was doing backflips now. Was he saying that she wasn’t something he wanted to invest in?

“I just don’t think it’s fair to give you less than you deserve.” He finished, after a moment. His meaning was clear: _I just don’t know how much of me there is left_.

“I will _gladly_ take whatever part of you you’re willing to give me, Aaron.” Maeve confessed. It was a guilty confession – one that left her lips before she had time to consider the consequences. “It’s at your leisure. Even if that means nothing, knowing what could’ve been would be enough.”

Except, it wouldn’t. Something simply _being_ enough and something _having_ to be enough were entirely different. Maeve knew this – she had said what she said. She had meant what she meant.

“Right,” Aaron said, this wasn’t what he meant. Leaning forward with his elbows on the chair. He let his head fall, propping it up with his hand as he looked at her. Maeve didn’t flinch, leveling him with a look of her own instead.

“Okay.” He said finally, after fighting – and ultimately losing – a war with himself.

“Okay?” Maeve asked, her heartbeat picking up.

“Okay.” Aaron replied, standing in one swift motion. Maeve wasn’t fully sure what was happening until it had already happened, Aaron grabbed her by the hands, pulling her to a standing position with him and wrapping one hand around her waist.

Maeve looked up at him through lowered eyelashes, her lips already parted and ready for Aaron’s. Instead, he brought a hand up to her face, gently caressing it with the back of his fingers. Time was suspended around them, fragmented into silvers so delicate that she was afraid one wrong move could shatter the illusion and send Aaron backpedalling.

As his fingers reached her cheek Maeve turned her head and let them brush over her lips instead. Gently, she pressed a soft kiss to his hand. This was enough to set the wheels in motion – Aaron surged forwards and the hand that gently caressed her now held her chin firmly in place. Maeve stretched up onto her tiptoes and laced her fingers around his neck, eager to meet him halfway. Reflexively his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her in so closely that

all that separated them was a few layers of fabric. She arched towards him. A gasp escaped without her permission, and he took the opportunity to bite her lip.

She wasn’t even aware of the fact that they had tumbled backwards onto the bed – all Maeve knew was his gravity. Every part of them that touched was burning hot and craving. This time was different, there was more fire behind it. He already knew the curves of her body; it wasn’t about exploring them as much as it was about enjoying them now.

Outer layers were shed quickly, as if their very existence was offensive. Shirtless Aaron was a wonder to behold, and yet she could barely get a breath in between kisses – taking a moment to admire him was off the table. He kissed the length of her stomach, all the way down and back up again. By the time he reached for her bra strap Maeve was a mess, desperately needing any sort of contact.

“I thought,” Aaron murmured into her mouth as he swatted her hands away from his briefs. “It was at my leisure.”

By the time that Aaron’s briefs joined Maeve’s on the floor, a thousand infinities had passed. She felt as though her lungs would never be the same, she said Aaron’s name like it was her new religion: hushed and reverent, whispered and revered. The man was good with his hands, even better with his mouth – and when he was fully inside of her, rocking his hips into hers, Maeve had never felt closer to anyone.

Eternities stretched out beneath them, and when Aaron finally collapsed on top of her Maeve wondered if this was what it was like to finally find religion. Her hands threaded through his hair and he rested his forehead on her shoulder, hiding his

“Hey, Aaron?” Maeve said after a few moments.

“Mmm?” He replied, too blissed out to even form words.

“You’re squishing me.” She told him, wiggling a little bit. Laughter rolled off his tongue easily, full bodied and beautiful. There was no holding back the flood gates once it happened – Maeve joined in with him, recklessly abandoning any and all of the walls she had left. Nothing else in the world mattered right now, not when Hotch was laughing. 


	9. Chapter 9

The morning had been a whirlwind, slowly piecing together the girls’ last actions and moments had been difficult – especially without a credit card trail. Eventually, the team had been able to piece it together - they had all attended a LGBT event at a local bar or strip club. It was well into the evening now, and with a local strip club hosting a Girls, Gays, & Theys event tonight the team was running out of options.

“So - our working theory is that the unsub goes to these events and hits on them, and when he gets rejected he drugs them and takes them home. He uses their dorm key to get into their room where he slits their throat and leaves a Bible?” Reid reiterated.

“We’re missing something, a stressor, maybe?” Morgan replied, tossing his case file on the desk in defeat. “It’s an incomplete profile at best.”

“There’s got to be something in his past before these murders,” Hotch told them. “Morgan, call Garcia and tell her to look for incidents of homophobic hate crimes and assaults perpetrated against women, done by white men aged 25-40 at most. Anyone older than that would stick out and none of the bar tenders reported seeing anyone unusual around the girls – just that they were there one minute and gone the next.”

“We’re all in agreement – we’re going to the club tonight, right?” Emily said after a beat, “We’re going to try and catch this guy in the act?”

“I agree with Emily, if we have a chance stop him before he can take another victim then we should take it.” JJ agreed, Maeve remained quiet – watching it all play out in front of her.

“We need to go about it a certain way, if he gets tipped off to the fact we’re there he could go underground and we ruin our chances of catching him.” Hotch replied, turning his attention to Morgan as he walked into the room. “We should coordinate with the strip club staff. Morgan will step in as a bouncer, Prentiss – how are you with making drinks?”

“Passable,” Emily told him.

Hotch’s attention turned to Maeve then, his eyes burning into her and she practically plucked the thought from his mind.

“Agent Gray – I’m about to ask a lot of you, I hope you can forgive me for it.” He said, “We need you to go in as bait – for lack of a better term. You’re the youngest, you most closely fit the profile for our girls.”

“Alright,” Maeve said. She didn’t even take a beat. “But I don’t have anything appropriate packed away in my go bag.”

“Take Emily and the bureau card,” Hotch instructed, reaching into his wallet and finishing out the jet black credit card. Prentiss was the one who leaned over to pluck it out of his hands, examining it with a raised brow and a smile. Aaron sighed deeply. “Just – don’t go crazy.”

“Right,” Maeve replied – catching Emily’s infectious smile. “We’ll keep it in mind.”

The two of them gathered their coats up, Maeve was just eager to get back out into the cool summer air. Alaskan air felt different than the air back home, or maybe that was just because she had a new lease on life after last night. She carried her tan trench coat over her arm, letting the summer air dance across her skin. The silk of her blouse kissed her skin delicately, each little breeze carrying a vivid memory of last night.

She slipped into the passenger seat, wondering why Reid complained about never being able to drive – this was the life. Emily tapped around on the GPS, quickly locating a shopping centre and letting it plan the quickest route.

“So…” Emily said, pulling Maeve out of her daydreams. “I need to ask – you and Hotch …?”

“That’s not a question.” Maeve replied, knowing exactly what Emily was asking with her silence. She swallowed hard but try as she might a small flush of pink rushed to her face.

“I knew it.” Emily murmured, somehow managing to sound both disbelieving and impressed. “How did you – I mean, you’ve only been here for what? A couple weeks?”

“We met at a bar a couple of days after I moved to Virginia,” Maeve finally confessed, “And we just clicked, you know? It was weird – I felt like I could’ve just talked to him for the whole night. We did talk the whole night, for the most part.”

“I never thought of Hotch as a one night stand kind of guy.” Emily replied, glancing at Maeve every so often as she drove.

“He’s not.” She told her friend, staring straight ahead. “I mean – I don’t know that for sure, but in this situation he’s not.”

“When did you sleep with him again?” Emily suddenly inquired, showing too much interest for it to be purely out of curiosity.

“Emily!” Maeve exclaimed, laughing a little bit as she did so. She hoped her tone of voice was enough to deter Prentiss from asking anymore questions. “We have a killer to catch here.”

“Okay, okay.” Emily said, backing off as she pulled into the mall parking lot. A few seconds of companionable silence passed as they hopped out of the car. “I just need confirmation that it did happen last night, or else Morgan and I are going to be bickering about wine for the next three weeks.”

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?” Maeve replied, still refusing to answer the question.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Emily told her, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. Maeve inhaled deeply, staring into Prentiss’s warm brown eyes as she did so. She blinked, once. Deliberately.

“Fuck – are you kidding me?” Prentiss exclaimed. “I owe Morgan so much wine.”

Despite herself, Maeve laughed, and Prentiss did too. “How much wine?”

“3 bottles worth.” Emily told her.

“It’s a good thing we have the company card then,” Maeve teased. It felt nice to be honest with at least one person on the team other than Aaron – she hadn’t realized how much of herself she had been holding back. Secrets could poison you from the outside in, Maeve knew that much. The discrepancy between who she was with Emily now, in this moment, and who she was when so much of her was hidden away was vast.

Strolling through the mall wasn’t quick or fun, rather it was mission oriented. Prentiss and Maeve moved fast, ducking into the first store that featured skin-tight dresses. It took precisely 5 minutes for Maeve to spot the perfect dress: small, black, velvet. It had a deep square neckline, hit about mid-thigh, and had a fun slit on the right side. Emily grabbed a tight, black t-shirt and snug fitting pair of jeans for both herself and Morgan. Maeve picked up a little silver purse, just big enough to fit her pistol in. Better safe than sorry.

It was nearing 8pm by the time they got back to the police station, and the team had gathered expectantly in the conference room. Delivering the profile had taken place while they were gone and local law enforcement had already stationed themselves outside of most bars – a display to try and strongarm the unsub into attending the event.

“Get dressed and let’s get going.” Hotch said as they walked in. Prentiss tossed Morgan’s bag at him and he caught it with ease, searching her face for any new information. She didn’t blink. Maeve was grateful.

Prentiss got dressed quickly, leaving as soon as she was done. Maybe she had sensed that Maeve needed a moment to compose herself while she did her makeup. The dress hung tightly off of every curve, showing off a more than ample amount of cleavage and leg. Her makeup, smudgy and sultry, only took a couple of minutes – it was more her smudging her eyeliner out with her finger and hoping for the best.

A rapt knock on the door tore her attention away from her appearance.

“Come in,” Maeve called. Dave tentatively pushed open the door, looking for all the world like he was checking for a someone to pull a gun on him.

“You certainly look the part,” He observed and Maeve slid her clutch off the counter, the weight of her pistol laying heavily on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready.” Maeve told him, internally steeling herself. The thoughts of her day slipped away, leaving just determination and clarity.

“Wear this.” Rossi instructed, shrugging off his blazer and handing it to her. Grateful for the additional piece of clothing. “Try not to get blood on it, please. It’s Italian.”

Maeve didn’t make any promises. They walked out of the station together. Eyes weighed heavily on her as she went– this was familiar, the staring. For the briefest of seconds Maeve wished she could’ve seen Hotch, or more precisely that he could’ve seen her. Rossi helped her step into the back of the SUV, and before she was even buckled in Morgan peeled out of the parking lot.

They had a long night ahead of them.


	10. Chapter 10

Inside the strip club fluorescent lights dripped down on Maeve in the most tantalizing and delicious ways. Shades of pink, purple, and blue flashed against her skin over and over again. The piece in her ear was barely visible, hidden by her heaps of blonde hair. Emily watched from the bar, Morgan watched from beside the stage, and Maeve scanned the crowd from the small dance floor. Strippers danced around her in their lingerie, drawing in client after client and bringing them to the private rooms. Profiling in the dark was proving more difficult than Maeve wanted to admit – the pure chaos around her kept drawing her focus in different ways.   
She was constantly in motion on the floor, hips swinging, head on a swivel. Men had approached her, but none that fit the profile – none that became aggressive, assertive, or noticeably agitated by her rejection. 

A hand came to rest on her hip then and Maeve allowed herself to lean into the touch as it travelled across her back and to her opposite waist. The owner was a large, burly man and he took a domineering step towards her. Maeve stepped away, raising her hands in an apologetic motion before turning back to the bar. He grabbed her arm, forcing her attention back to him. Maeve’s hand twitched towards her purse.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demanded, breath rotten and coated in whiskey.

Morgan pounced then – perhaps a bit prematurely. Acting as a bouncer he pushed himself in between them, grabbing him by the arm and marching him out the front door as quickly as he could. A small fight for dominance ensued, and one of the undercover cops jumped in to help grab the unsub’s other arm. Maeve breathed a sigh of relief, happy that the night was over. Throwing herself dramatically across the bar she grinned at Prentiss, a small victory smile. 

“I’m just going to head to the bathroom, I’ll see you out there?” Maeve told her, Prentiss nodded and tossed the bar towel down on the back counter. Apparently she was just as happy to get out of there as Maeve was. 

The bathroom was clean – at least for a strip club. Pink tiled walls were accented with white stalls, each complete with multiple hooks for bags and purses. It made sense, she was sure that the Alaskan winter time wasn’t manageable without a jacket. Maeve ducked into a stall, and when she exited she was greeted by a tall brunette woman fixing her reflection in the mirror. 

“That was some crazy stuff out there,” The woman said, eyeing Maeve’s reflection up. 

“Probably happens all the time here,” She replied with an easy laugh – taking the sink beside the taller woman. Maeve watched the woman turn and lean on the counter out of the corner of her eye – she was nondescript, wearing a black button up (with barely any buttons done up) and blue jeans. Her hair just reached her jawline. 

“Only to pretty girls.” The woman replied, passing Maeve a piece of paper towel to dry her hands with. “I’m Laura.”

“Hi Laura,” Maeve said – taking the paper towel and offering her a dry hand afterwards. “I’m Maeve.”

“Can I buy you a drink Maeve?” Laura asked and Maeve looked down at her feet. In another lifetime she would’ve taken her up on the offer. 

“I was actually just about to head out.” Maeve told her, tossing out the paper towel. 

“Let me walk you out then.” She replied, grabbing her black leather purse off the bathroom counter. Maeve nodded her assent, grateful for a companion while she left. At least then she knew half the glances thrown her way could be attributed to the beautiful woman beside her. 

They made their way through the bodies in the strip club, Maeve didn’t stop to say goodbye to anyone. Having already made one regrettable stop in the bathroom, the only thing on Maeve’s mind was just getting out. In the front foyer two girls were wrapped around each other, mouths and minds completely occupied with only the thought of each other. The door swung open – and that was when Maeve saw it, the disgust colouring Laura’s face. 

Everything came together in one quick moment and it was all she could do to hope that she hadn’t been found out yet. Grateful for the blacked-out windows at the front door, Maeve took a deep breath and readied herself to run. The motion censor kicked on then and Maeve moved just a second too late – Laura wrapped her hand around Maeve’s forearm and yanked her backwards. Acting off of pure instinct Maeve jerked her arm away and made a move to run, realizing the effect her actions would have only a second too late. Laura’s legs were longer, she grabbed a fistful of Maeve’s hair and pulled her back yet again with such force that Maeve’s head slammed against her collar bone. 

Sharp metal pressed at the hollow of her throat as the door fully swung open, revealing a dozen FBI and police cars. Reid was the first to notice, panic filling his eyes as he drew his gun immediately. Everyone’s head turned towards her then – but she was only fixated on Hotch. Something deep, dark, and not entirely Hotch had taken over his face. Rage, she realized, was the thing that possessed him. Fuck, Maeve thought, well that’s not going to help anything. 

Time to think on her feet. 

“Hey-” She started, swallowing back her fear. “Hey guys. This is my friend Laura.”

“Shut up.” Laura growled, the hand that held her hair tightened. “Someone get me a car before I slice her open and leave her to die.”

“Hi Laura – my name’s Emily.” Prentiss tried, only to be cut off by a visceral yell from Laura.

“I said I want a fucking car.” She repeated. Maeve tried to breathe.

“You probably haven’t even told her – have you?” Maeve said, gently. There was no need to be loud, everyone still had their earpieces in. Laura froze. That was all the confirmation she needed. “I’ll go with you, if you want. We can tell her together.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Laura spat at her, but the knife wasn’t as tight to her skin anymore.

“The way you killed those girls, I mean – it was an act of mercy, right? Because they couldn’t keep living that way. In secret.” Maeve continued, waiting for her opening. Morgan’s voice yelled loudly in the background, but it was just a ringing in her ear’s at this point. Drop the weapon was repeated over and over again, with the occasional Let her go! thrown in. 

“Right. Yeah.” Laura told her. The hand loosened on her hair. “Exactly. I mean – they were lying. To everyone!”

“It’s sad, that they had to do that.” Maeve agreed. “They’re probably much happier now. You’re just making them comfortable.”

“Thank you. See – someone gets it.” This last part was directed at the guns pointed directly at them, Maeve assumed. 

“Do you think you could do me a favour?” Maeve asked. Only a little looser now. The silence told her that her request was being considered. “My hair is just like, right in my face – and if we’re going on a roadtrip then I need to be able to see – so do you think you could tuck it behind my ear?”

This was utter nonsense, but it took Laura a moment to realize it – and in that moment she considered it. Human bodies do weird things when their brain is elsewhere, Maeve would know – and when Laura’s fingers twitched to follow her request a multitude of things happened at once. 

Maeve grabbed her purse in her right hand, yanking her left elbow up before thrusting it backwards against Laura’s ribcage. Instinctively Laura’s body jerked forwards, the knife leaving Maeve’s throat as it did so. She spun with efficiency, bringing her right hand – and her clutch, and her pistol – against the side of Laura’s face. It was enough force to knock her to the ground, and Maeve aimed a precise kick at her wrist, sending the knife skittering across pavement. 

She backpedaled then, but not before Laura’s hand shot out towards her ankle, fingers finding purchase on her laces. A shot rang out as Maeve tumbled backwards onto her ass, the world spinning around her. Blood shot up in a mist from Laura’s wound, coating Maeve’s face with red freckles. 

Hotch got there first, his hands warm and heavy on her shoulders. It was enough to pull her back to earth. 

“Maeve – Maeve, are you hurt?” Hotch demanded and she shook her head, watching as the blood pooled out of Laura and crept towards her. 

“Help me up?” She requested and he quite literally hauled her to her feet. Maeve’s legs felt numb. 

“Here,” He said, whipping off his FBI standard issue jacket and draping it over her shoulders. Maeve self consciously touched her chest and her fingers were bloody red when she pulled them away. 

“Uh…” She said, staring at the offending colour. Sickness wrapped around her gut, holding her tight and not letting go. Copious amounts of willpower were required to keep the sickness inside and not out. “Anyone have napkins?”

Things were blurry for the next few minutes while Maeve regained her senses. Hotch had moved her to the back of the rental SUV, sitting her down and climbing in beside her with napkins he had managed to procure. 

“Can I?” He asked, holding up a napkin. Maeve nodded, turning to face him.

Being cared for by Hotch was a holy experience. Each press and push of the napkin against her skin pushed her back into herself, back into her body. He blotted and dabbed away at her face, starting under her brow and making his way all the way down the side of her neck. She shimmed out of his blazer when he got to her chest, each inch of exposed skin feeling like a vulnerability. By the time he was done Maeve was breathing easily again. 

“I haven’t been in the backseat with a boy I’ve liked since I was like 16.” Maeve confessed suddenly. It was like the words were yanked from her throat. 

“So, like two years ago?” Hotch replied. They shared a small smile. He took her hand, folding her fingers into his palm and pulling it up to his mouth. A delicate kiss to the knuckles was all she received. It was enough. 

The front door opened swiftly and they jumped apart. None other than Dave Rossi heaved himself into the vehicle, staring them down using the rear view mirror. 

“You know – you could at least be a bit more subtle.” Rossi chided, but the tone lacked any real anger or threat. Simply, it was a statement. “Prentiss and Reid owe Morgan a whole lot of wine.”

“Really?” Hotch asked, bemusement colouring his voice. “Because Morgan knew?”

“No – because you slept together last night.” Rossi replied. Maeve was even more grateful for the darkness, it hid her blush. Hotch didn’t flinch, quite possibly only out of habit then anything. 

“Well…” Aaron said, considering the whole situation. “How much wine do they owe him?”

“Three bottles.” Maeve told him and he turned to look at her then, raising his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You knew about it?” He asked her. 

“Emily told me when we went shopping.” Maeve explained.

“Did you tell them about last night?” He continued, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“She didn’t have to, we already knew.” Rossi cut in, turning on the car and starting out of the parking lot. “Dr. Reid was unfortunate enough to have the room beside yours.”

“Spencer wouldn’t have said anything.” Aaron argued.

“Didn’t have to.” Dave replied, tone matter of fact. “You aren’t as good at hiding things as you’d like to think. She was more difficult to get a read on.”

Maeve resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at Aaron. 

“Only because you’re new.” Rossi continued, bumping her down a peg. “We’re taking you to the hotel, Maeve. JJ’s got the press eating out of her hand already, local PD is dealing with the crime scene and Morgan sent some of the unsub’s DNA over to be processed. Just to be sure it’s a match. We’re dropping you off, Maeve, and then we’re headed back to the station to make sure all the loose ends are taken care of. All that’s left to do is the paperwork, and we’ve got a 9-hour flight for that. Looks like we’ll be able to leave in a couple of hours.”

“Let’s wait until the morning.” Hotch told Dave. “The team is tired; we’ve been through a lot. The least we can do is give them a good night’s sleep.” 

Maeve closed her eyes and stretched her hand out towards Aaron. He took it, cradling it gently between his own. Peace washed over her, and the next time she opened her eyes it was to a gentle knock on her hotel room door. Maeve hadn’t remembered getting to her bed, but she assumed she zombie-walked it – due mostly to the fact that Morgan wasn’t there to carry her. 

Grumbling quietly she ambled over to the door, yanking down the velvet dress she had fallen asleep in. Hotch stood at her door, holding his pajamas in his hands. Maeve didn’t say anything, just stepped back to let him in and wandered back to her bed. He stopped her before she could get there, grabbing her hips to still her before he reached for her zipper. 

Maeve stood with her eyes closed, once again letting Hotch take care of her. The dress fell in a pile of fabric around her bare ankles, and instinctively she reached up to pull her bra straps off her shoulders. Hotch undid the clasp and it joined the rest of her clothes on the floor. Maeve wrapped her arms around herself and stood there for a few seconds before a soft t-shirt was pulled over her head. 

It was Hotch’s. 

She turned then, folding herself into his chest. Her hands flattened against his rib cage between them and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight. Maeve tucked her forehead into the crook of his neck and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. They stood there for a long time – waiting until Maeve began to drift again before Hotch laid her down and slipped into his pajama pants. 

Sleep settled on them the way snow settled on mountain peaks, softly at first and then all at once. Tomorrow wasn’t even a thought in Maeve’s mind.


End file.
